Brick
by Suicidal Mickey Mouse
Summary: Roger reflects on himself and how people see him.


Disclaimer: RENT and its characters do not belong to me. Neither does the song Brick, from which I have taken the title of the fic and enclosed some lyrics to emphasize the message of the fic.

Author's notes: Just a one shot. No particular pairing intended, interpret as you wish. Roger's POV, but kind of obvious.

Also, although the lyrics refer to a woman, that's not the point of using the song, you should be able to figure it out though.

Brick

_She's a brick and I'm drowning slowly_

_Off the coast and I'm headed nowhere_

_She's a brick and I'm drowning slowly_

_Brick, Ben Folds Five_

People always tell me how strong I am. Because I was addicted to smack. They tell me I'm strong because I had a habit that needed to be supplied two to three times a day. And I kicked it. Cold turkey, without rehab. I guess being able to sit on my bed curled in the fetal position makes me a fucking strongman. It's like they don't realize that I still went through the withdrawal. That I had days where I was shaking so badly that I felt like if I didn't do something to restrain myself I was going to make the whole building think that we were having some sort of freak earthquake. They don't realize that there were days that I was ready to do absolutely anything to get a hit. I was just like any other junkie. But somehow, in everyone's eyes I skipped all those steps. I didn't have to go through the illness, the shakes, the cold sweats. They act like I never dealt with the highs and lows of withdrawal. That I went from junkie to clean in 2.3 seconds. I didn't, but everyone just sees what they want to see, so that makes me strong.

People always tell me I'm strong because I kept going on with my life after April killed herself. Because I turned my life around when it happened. As though seeing her lifeless body in a pool of her own blood gave me some stinging slap of reality and I realized how my life was so fucked up. That this all happened and I just took the initiative to fix all of my mistakes. They tell me I'm strong because I didn't let the body haunt me and ruin my life. People don't care that I spent all of my time just locked in the loft, sitting. That I would avoid the windows because the very thought of the light hitting my skin terrified me. It would prove I was awake and not trapped in some horrible nightmare. All of these people don't see how a simple thing like eating was hard for me. Everyone just sees what they want to see, so that makes me strong.

People always tell me how persistent I am. Going on with my music and trying to write my song. Apparently it didn't matter that there was the year where I wouldn't even touch my guitar. That every piece of music I touched turned to shit. They don't care that it took me an entire year to write a song that's only two and half minutes long. They don't notice how in that year there were ups and downs, where I stopped writing. It doesn't matter. They just see that I finished a song, so that makes me persistent.

People tell me that I'm amazing. Because Mimi passed away and I kept going. I'm amazing because another person that I loved died and added more hardship to my life. First the drugs, and then April, and the disease, and getting back into music, and then Mimi. They tell me I'm amazing even though after each of these things I wanted to quit life. They don't see me when I wanted to let myself go. They just see that I did keep going after each bad thing was thrown at me, so that makes me amazing.

People say these things…That I'm strong, and persistent, and amazing. It's like they don't know me. They don't pay attention to what I do. You can't be any of those things when you don't do any of the things people tell you you've done by yourself. Because I didn't. Every single one of these things, I had help from Mark.

Mark. It was Mark who helped me kick the drugs. Who kept me from going out and buying the drugs. Mark was making me comfortable during my lowest point. He would endure me trying to kill him, just so I'd be able to go out and get the smack. It was Mark, who forced me to stop shooting up in the first place. But people don't see that I would still be addicted if it weren't for Mark, so that makes me the strong one.

It was Mark who made me get up every morning after April. Who shoved the food down my throat so I wouldn't starve. He's the one that made me at least walk around the loft. Mark convinced me that sitting around wasn't going to make her come back. He got rid of the piece of shit curtains to make me face the light and the fact that April was gone. But people don't see that I'd still be holed up in my room if it weren't for Mark, so that makes me the strong one.

Mark kept bugging me about my music. He always told me that if I got myself back into it I could make it, and go back to being the pretty boy front man. His words, not mine. Mark convinced me to want to leave something behind; he put the guitar in my hands again. It was Mark who had to listen to every sour note, and every attempt at an original song. Yet he continued to encourage me, and he made me try again every single time I got frustrated. But people don't realize that my guitar would still be in the corner gathering dust if it weren't for Mark, so I am the persistent one.

And Mark kept me going after Mimi. He wouldn't let me fall back to any of my old ways. Just like after April and the drugs. He forced me to go out, to keep playing my guitar, to live. I wanted to hit him, every time he started talking to get me to do something; he still got his way though and I continued to live. But people don't notice the driving force behind my moving on, so I am the amazing one.

But Mark is invisible. He goes unnoticed by others, his face hidden by the lens of his camera. He can say something, and people will listen, and then he fades away again, to be the silent observer. It's because of this that people don't notice how he supports people. They can't see how he takes whatever people throw at him, whether it's their own shit or if they're just hurting him, and then turns around and helps them to the best of his capabilities.

It's because of this that they don't realize that Mark was the driving force behind all of these accomplishments. They don't realize that without Mark I would be drowning in my life. That each event affected him as much as it did me, the only difference between us being that he was able to put his issues aside and help me. They don't know it or seem to care, but I'm not strong, or persistent, or amazing. I just get helped by Mark, who is strong, persistent and amazing. He made me who I am. But people don't see that, so it can't be true.

People always tell me how sexy I am…well actually…that one's true.

The last line was inspired by my friend who goes by the penname, rockgodsdoitbetter.

This story was just a one shot I wrote to tide you over until I can post more of Pyro fic.


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